An Unconventional Contest
by bedshaped3
Summary: Vash Zwingli is dying but has nobody he trusts to look after his daughter Lili when he's gone. What else would an eccentric billionaire do but devise a contest to find a new guardian? And as time runs out, will Vash even be able to go through with it? Multi-character fic. Established pairings: AusHun, SweFin. Lashings of: Spamano, LietPol, GerIta, USUK & many other flirtations!
1. Prologue

**AN UNCONVENTIONAL CONTEST**

_(Part of the 'A Thousand Fibres' Collection)_

SYNOPSIS: Vash Zwingli is dying and with no-one left he trusts to look after his daughter, Lili, he devises an unconventional contest: the search for Lili's new guardian. While those around Vash are certain he isn't thinking clearly, Vash is determined to follow his plan through.

_1 father, 1 child, 1 reluctant aide and 18 contestants. Mostly strangers, connecting and re-connecting, unaware that this experience will change their lives forever._

**A/N – Hi there! I've been wanting to do a multi-character Hetalia fic for a while and then it hit me – what better way to get characters to interact than by pitting them against each other in a contest?! My stories are usually a little angsty, but with this fic I'm hoping to balance on that fine line between drama and comedy. Some developments may be a little 'out there' (come on it's Hetalia!) but I'll try and make it as believable as possible. The main characters in this story are Vash/Switzerland & Lili/Liechtenstein (obviously), Roderich/Austria, Elizabeta/Hungary, Gilbert/Prussia, Francis/France, Antonio/Spain, Arthur/England, Alfred/America, Matthew/Canada, Ludwig/Germany, Feliciano/N. Italy, Lovino/S. Italy, Feliks/Poland, Toris/Lithuania, Berwald/Sweden, Tino/Finland, Kiku/Japan, Yao/China, Heracles/Greece, Sadiq/Turkey and a little bit of Ivan/Russia. Other characters will be making appearances here and there, so hope you stick with it :)**

* * *

PROLOGUE

_Lucerne, Switzerland_

Vash Zwingli tried to silence the roaring in his head but it was virtually impossible. Of course he knew something wasn't quite right when his doctors had ushered him in for tests after the initial check-up. But this was something Vash could never have anticipated.

It had started with constant headaches, which Vash had put down to him working hard trying to develop a new security system. The blurred vision and lack of co-ordination Vash experienced a few weeks later alerted him to the fact things might be a little more serious. It was only when Vash had vomited violently and unexpectedly in front of his then two-year-old daughter, frightening her half to death, that he booked an appointment with his doctor.

"Mr Zwingli?" His physician said again, having resorted to waving a hand in front of his patient's face to regain his attention.

"How long do I have?" The question left Vash's lips before he could stop it. He was surprised by how casual his voice sounded, but he was thankful for it. Vash wasn't a man inclined to publicly express his emotions.

"Brain tumours are very unpredictable and it's different for every patient-"

"I don't think you understand," Vash cut in, his voice crisp. "I have people who depend on me. I-" Vash coughed to disguise the tremor in his voice. "I need to know how long I have." The doctor sighed deeply before responding.

"I'm afraid it's a matter of months – maybe a year if we're lucky. Your tumour is aggressive and I'm sorry, but it's too far gone to risk an operation."

Vash's face gave nothing away.

"Thank you," he replied with a slight nod and stood up from his chair. "Is that all?"

"I-" The doctor looked up at his patient, a little perplexed. "No, Mr Zwingli, we still have to discuss your options. We can look at ways of making this more comfortable for you-"

"What is the point?"

The doctor was used to Vash's brusque manner and usually let it slide – after all, he was his richest and most respected client. But these were exceptional circumstances and Mr Zwingli would do what he was told.

"This is serious, Mr Zwingli," the physician countered heatedly. "As you have said, there are people who depend on you. You owe it to them and yourself to see the best possible way to move forward. Sit down."

Eyeing his doctor in disbelief, Vash hesitated before clearing his throat and sitting back down in his chair.

"Go ahead, doctor," Vash muttered, gesturing lazily as if already bored with the conversation – though his heart thumped so hard in his chest, Vash thought his ribcage would shatter.

* * *

After what seemed like hours of going over his 'options', Vash finally made his way to the sleek black town car waiting for him in the _Klinik St. Anna_ hospital parking lot. Lili and their driver, Hans, sat in the back colouring in a picture of a kitten.

"Daddy!" Lili squealed when she spotted him, causing Vash's throat to constrict painfully. He waved merrily through the car window, willing himself to keep composure – breaking down wasn't an option now. He stepped back to give Hans room to exit the back of the car and pretended not to notice the look of relief on his driver's face.

"Hans can't stay inside the lines," Lili informed Vash matter-of-factly as he sat down in Hans' place. Vash pulled the blonde 3-year-old onto his lap and wrapped his arms tight around her small frame, prompting Lili to twist around and look up at her father in protest. Instead, Lili took in his pale face and unseeing eyes and instinctively buried her face into his chest.

"Is everything ok, Mr Zwingli?" Vash could see Hans eying him worriedly through the rear-view mirror and nodded in response.

"Let's just go home."

As they drove, Vash could not help but notice how alert his senses were. The nearby shops and flurry of tourists seemed too much for his eyes to take in. The cacophony of beeping cars and revving motors was overwhelming. The scent of Lili now sleeping in his lap – of soap and fresh grass – invaded his nostrils, refusing to let him deny what was becoming so painfully clear to him. He was not going to see her grow up. This was it – how he would remember her. The girl Vash swore he would protect forever was being viciously wrenched from him by circumstances out of his control. He had never felt so powerless.

* * *

Roderich Edelstein's eyes were closed as the final swell of Strauss' _Sphärenklänge_ played on the ancient gramophone in his small and empty office. Opening his eyes, Roderich was stunned to find a stranger with shaggy blonde hair standing in a corner, watching him intently. Roderich blinked rapidly. No, it wasn't one of the musically-motivated visions he usually received after one of his trances – the man was still there. In fact he spoke.

"I want you." The stranger said as he moved out of the dark corner to sit in front of Roderich's desk in the chair reserved for clients. "Anyone who can make those expressions in public over a piece of music might not find my idea so crazy."

"I-how long have you been standing there?!" Roderich spluttered, his cheeks turning pink from embarrassment and indignation. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"My name is Vash Zwingli," the stranger replied evenly. "And I have a proposition for you."

* * *

**A/N: Many thanks to beadybonbons for the beta and thanks to you for reading, the next chapter's up as well. Please read/review and let me know what you think :)**

_Next chapter: Finding Lili..._


	2. Finding Lili

**CHAPTER 1 – Finding Lili**

_Lucerne, Switzerland_

Roderich Edelstein stared at Vash, open-mouthed at the proposal the eccentric billionaire had just presented to him. Beforehand, Roderich had been asked to sign a confidentiality agreement, to which he had obliged – if Vash Zwingli had a preposition for you, you listened. Now Roderich wondered whether he had been too hasty – the man was clearly insane. Who creates a contest to find the future carer of their child?

"So what do you think?" Vash asked when Roderich hadn't responded. "Will you help me?"

"You do know there are procedures in place for cases like these," Roderich answered delicately, his brow furrowed. "She'll probably be put in care or-

"I was brought up in a care home," Vash cut in, his voice rough with impatience. "I know what it's like to grow up in one and Lily is not going there – not if I can help it."

"But what about adoption agencies?" Roderich persisted. "Wouldn't that be the best way to find her new parents?"

"I've looked into that – there is nobody suitable." Vash replied coolly. "Besides, for some reason they won't let me test the potential parents they have on file."

Roderich snorted at this, tapping the sheet of paper Vash had handed him earlier with a list of tasks for prospective parents.

"Well I'm not surprised considering the things you want to test them in. Shooting?! What the hell does that have to do with parenting?"

"Protection!" Vash argued heatedly. "What kind of parent doesn't know how to handle heavy weaponry?"

"You're mad," Roderich breathed, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head in disbelief. "I mean, I'd heard the rumours..."

"No, I'm desperate," Vash corrected. "Believe it or not, you're not the first lawyer I've presented this to."

"And I won't be the last!" Roderich exclaimed. "I'm afraid I can't help you."

Roderich could see Vash visibly deflate and surprisingly felt a pang of guilt. Just then, another thought occurred to him.

"Where's her mother?"

"Her mother is dead," Vash revealed frostily after a small pause.

"I'm sorry," Roderich said hesitantly, his expression heartfelt. "Was she your wife...?"

"No," Vash sighed heavily. For some reason he was convinced this music-loving, small-time lawyer was the person he had been looking for – and that meant laying everything out on the table. "Lili is adopted."

* * *

_Lucerne, Switzerland_

_3 years ago_

Throughout Switzerland and a significant proportion of Europe and Asia, the name Zwingli was synonymous with security. Zwingli Corporation was worth billions and its founder – reclusive entrepreneur and inventor Vash Zwingli – had built the company up from scratch over the past 10 years, providing alarm and lock systems to countless households around the globe.

Those who had met Vash Zwingli often described him as cold and reticent in manner. It was a label Vash found hard to shake off but wasn't too bothered by. He preferred to keep to himself anyway and having people being too scared to approach him meant Vash wasn't bombarded by journalists or opportunists looking for investors and start-up money. Vash's brutal honesty, while never intentionally malicious, meant people refrained from forging close relationships with him. To the select few who did know and work closely with Vash, he was a thoughtful – if indeed eccentric – man and they respected him.

At 33 years old, most people would regard Vash's life as a resounding success. He had millions to his name and the reverence of those who worked with and for him. Still, sometimes in bed alone at night before sleep crept up on him, Vash wondered if this was really it for him: money and isolation. God knows Vash had tried to open himself up more to the people around him, but it wasn't in his nature. In his younger years, Vash had engaged in a few affairs, but they were always fleeting and sterile and Vash found himself withdrawing from those experiences over time. Now emotional distance was all Vash knew and veering off that path and trying to 'express himself' made him feel sick and uncomfortable. This, however, did not stop the ache to connect with someone from surfacing when Vash felt particularly lonely. It always managed to make Vash feel incredibly guilty – what right did he have to want more from life when he had already been given so much?

It was these thoughts that circled through Vash's mind as he sat at the meeting table, staring out of the large glass windows in his company boardroom on a hot and sleepy Friday afternoon.

"Mr Zwingli?"

Vash blinked as he was brought out of his reverie, looking around at the board members sat at the table eyeing Vash warily. What had they been talking about again?

"We're just running through the numbers for the last quarter, Mr Zwingli," Vash's deputy Evan Muetzel explained quickly. "They are very healthy and we are looking to make a steady profit."

"Good," Vash nodded, feigning interest whilst silently thanking Evan for the cover-up. The last thing Vash needed was for the investors to think he was losing focus – even if he was. "That's great news." Vash sat back in his chair, slipping back into his thoughts before hastily speaking again.

"You know, why don't we adjourn for today?"

"Mr Zwingli?" Evan questioned, glancing around at the other confused board members.

"It nice and sunny and we're stuck in here sweating it out on Friday afternoon!" Vash exclaimed. "Everyone just go home and enjoy the rest of the day."

"Mr Zwingli, we haven't-"

"I'm serious. Enjoy your weekend." With that, Vash stood up and straightened out his suit. "I'll see you on Monday."

There was silence in the room after Vash's exit as the remaining board members looked at each other in bewilderment.

"What was that about?" One of them finally spoke, looking to Evan for answers.

"Probably stress," Evan muttered, gathering his papers and standing up. "Well you heard the man – vacate! See you Monday."

* * *

As Vash neared home the heavens opened, showering the scorching ground with much needed moisture. Vash recalled the conversation he had had with his driver Hans a little earlier.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you home?" Hans had asked persistently. "The forecast said there might be a thunderstorm."

"Since when are those ever right?" Vash had sneered. "Besides, it's boiling – I don't know why I even brought a coat. Go on without me, I think I'm going to walk home today."

"If you're sure, sir," Hans had shrugged and Vash had waved him off as he drove out of the company car park.

"Fuck!" Vash spat presently, imagining Hans parking the car at home – bone-dry and no doubt smug. Sprinting the last few yards past the outer gates of his estate, Vash slipped into an alcove, shook the rain out of his hair and wiped his face irritably. Grumbling softly to himself as he pulled on the coat he had been holding, it took Vash a few good minutes to hear the persistent wailing coming from a pile of rags on the stone floor. Vash froze, unconsciously holding his breath as he finally walked over to the pile and carefully peeled back a layer of cloth.

A tiny baby, probably no more than a day or two old, lay amongst the sheets with eyes closed and a pink face screwed up in anguish. As its screeches grew louder, Vash's eyes widened in horror and he looked around, checking to see if the person who had abandoned this baby was watching them. Sensing nobody nearby, Vash carefully picked up the baby and the swaddles of cloth and hugged it to his chest. The baby continued to scream and Vash pressed the back of his hand to the baby's cheek to check its temperature. Even in the heat which was slowly dissipating, the baby's skin was worryingly cool.

At the touch of Vash's hand, the baby suddenly stopped crying and opened its eyes. They were a bright green and they blinked in confusion before settling on Vash. Vash stared back at the tiny creature and in that moment, he felt a surge of emotion so strong it almost blinded him. Vash had no idea what it meant, but he knew he needed to keep this tiny person safe at all costs.

"Hey there little one," Vash said softly, rocking the baby lightly. "It's going to be alright." The baby remained quiet as he tucked it carefully in the folds of his jacket to keep it from the rain and walked the short distance home.

Hans was waiting for him anxiously at the door the moment Vash stepped out of the rain and into the large entrance hall.

"See! I did warn y..." Hans started, trailing off when he saw what Vash was holding. "What the...?"

"I found him...her?" Vash regarded the baby distractedly as he tried to determine its gender. Brushing away this new trail of thought, Vash resumed his conversation with his perplexed driver. "Well I found it in the little nook just inside the entrance. Can you tell Silvan to get a fire started? The baby's freezing."And get Lina to see if anyone has any milk suitable..." Vash paused again, wrinkling his nose. "...and nappies."

For a billionaire, Vash led quite a modest lifestyle when it came to hired help. Of course he had servants – there was no way he could manage the upkeep of the manor on his own – but there were few compared to what was inherently possible. Vash's household consisted of Hans, Lina his housekeeper, Silvan his butler/valet, Lukas his gardener and a few maids and footmen Vash didn't encounter much on a day-to-day basis. Vash had a feeling this was because they had been warned not to communicate too much with him, which made Vash feel a little bit like an ogre when they quickly departed if he ever entered a room they were occupying.

"Vash, you do know you can't keep it right?" Hans said cautiously as he watched a captivated Vash play with the baby's fingers. "It has to go to the hospital...and we probably need to phone the police."

"I know!" Vash answered irritably as he cradled the baby gently. "But surely we should feed and change it first? It looks starved!" Vash looked down at the baby, frowning slightly. "I don't like calling it 'it'...let's just call it 'Baby' for now. And Baby wants to stay with Vash doesn't Baby?" Baby blinked up at him and Vash cackled gleefully. "See? Baby's smiling! You can tell...you know, behind the eyes."

Hans looked at his employer like he had grown a third head.

"I'll go and get Lina," he muttered, edging out of the front room.

Half an hour later, Hans and Vash were on their way to the hospital with a dry, fed and clean Baby, who they'd now established as female. Lina had thankfully managed to source some adequate baby essentials and Vash was glad they had managed to lessen some of the discomfort the baby must have been in. On arrival, the doctors had deemed Baby slightly undernourished which resulted in her being put on a drip. Vash couldn't help but wince when he next saw her with tubes that seemed too big for her fragile body.

Vash continued to visit Baby in the hospital over the next few days. It was becoming routine and Vash could barely remember a time when he didn't think about how this little baby was doing. Unfortunately, Vash was her only visitor, as the police had confirmed the baby's mother had not yet come forward. Vash did feel a little out of place when he entered the hospital, but the nurses always smiled when Vash arrived as Baby seemed to stop crying whenever he was around.

A little over a week later on one of his visits, Vash could tell the atmosphere around Baby at the hospital had shifted. Finally managing to corner one of the nurses, Vash discovered that a woman had been brought in who was almost certainly Baby's mother. It turned out Baby's mother was a grieving immigrant from Liechtenstein who had lost the love of her life and father of her child a month ago. Unable to cope, she had delivered the baby and had left her near a home she thought had the means to look after it – she had then taken painkillers and slit her wrists. The woman had been found in an alley a week after her death with nothing more than an ID card, an empty purse, and a suicide note detailing where she had left her child and where she wanted to be buried – next to her partner.

"What was the mother's name?" Vash asked quietly, his throat constricting painfully at the thought of a woman so heartbroken and lost she had decided to end it all.

"Lilanya Ospelt."

Vash nodded, his gaze falling on the sleeping Baby through the ward room window.

"Lilanya..." Vash breathed. "Does Baby have a name yet?"

"Not yet," the nurse replied gently. Vash hesitated before speaking again.

"W-what about Lili? You know...something to connect her to her mother?"

The nurse regarded him sadly.

"Lili's a lovely name," she agreed. "I'll make sure it's noted on her tags."

"Thank you," Vash nodded again, his voice thick with sorrow. "I'm going to sit with her for a while if that's alright?"

"Of course it is, take as much time as you need."

When Vash had finally returned home, he could think of nothing else but Lili. She was so alone and yet completely unaware of it. Vash's parents had died in a car crash when he was ten. He had grown up in a care home – too old to be considered for adoption by parents who desired a baby to hold and mould into their own family. It was a lonely life, but Vash was smart and he had managed to build what he had now from the little money his parents had left him. Lili had been left with nothing – with no-one. Vash didn't know if he could watch someone he felt so connected to go through life without a true home. Without an identity.

That night in bed Vash was stunned to find tears trickling down his face and soaking his pillow. Crying was something Vash didn't do, in fact he couldn't remember the last time he had done so in his adult life...and yet here he was. Vash cried for Lili and the fact she would never know her biological mother; for the sorry situation where another child was left parentless. But mostly, he cried for Lilanya, a relatively unknown woman who had been so quick to abandon a child who was nothing short of angelic. Vash knew that if he had given up someone as perfect and beautiful as that child, he would never be able to live with himself either. It was that night Vash knew what he had to do: Vash was going to adopt.

* * *

_A year later_

Vash held Lili tightly in front of the birthday cake, unable to stop himself from grinning as he watched her face light up in awe at the candles. Hans, the household staff and some colleagues from work also surrounded the pair, looking equally charmed by the child's excitement. There had never been a birthday party at the Zwingli mansion in the time Vash had lived here, and it amused him how much he enjoyed watching everyone else's enjoyment – it was a strange new feeling altogether.

The past year had been the toughest and most emotionally draining of Vash's life. The agency had warned him from the very beginning that even if he was allowed to adopt, there was no guarantee Lili would be the child. Vash accepted this and told himself that providing a loving family for any child would be a reward in itself. Even so, there was no way Vash was going to let Lili go without a fight and he continued to visit her at the hospital and then at the foster home she was taken to until a family could be found for her. Thankfully, the foster family were kind, understanding and saw the calming effect Vash seemed to have over the child, so they welcomed his visits wholeheartedly.

Nothing could have prepared Vash for the countless checks, visitations and interviews he was subjected to on his course to becoming an adoptive parent. He knew they had to be careful, but Vash's nerves were shot to pieces after every check and it always felt like each one could be his last. Nevertheless, they continued to call him back and Vash attended preparation classes, hopeful that every day was one step closer to being considered as a parent for Lili.

There had been one particularly soul-crushing moment towards the end of Vash's assessment where he discovered that Lili had been visited by some prospective parents. Vash had waited anxiously to hear if they had taken her in and found himself overwhelmed by a sickening sense of relief and guilt when he found out the match hadn't worked out. Surprisingly, after that the agency had started to indicate that Lili might be the child Vash would be matched with if he was allowed to adopt. At the time Vash thought it was fate working for him in a way he could not comprehend. He later found out that both the foster family caring for Lili and the nurses at the hospital had pointed out to the agency how well Vash had connected with Lili. From then on, Vash was secretly hopeful until the moment they finally told him he could adopt and Lili would be his child.

The first few months Vash had full custody of Lili were as challenging and disorientating as he had been warned, but Vash wouldn't have had it any other way. It seemed like every day was a constant surprise and nothing was set in stone any more. It was something Vash, who was used to routine had needed to quickly adjust to. There were still frequent visits from the agency and, although Vash sometimes felt like the most useless parent when he struggled with a nappy or tested milk ten times before feeding Lili, they seemed impressed with how the pair had settled in.

"Make a wish Lili," Vash said lightly, bringing her closer to the cake and making an 'o' shape with his mouth that Lili dutifully copied. They both blew out the candles (Vash a little more successfully) and the guests around them cheered. Vash didn't know what Lili had wished for, or if she even understood the concept, but he hadn't asked for anything. Vash had everything he could possibly want. His life was finally complete.

* * *

_Lucerne, Switzerland_

Roderich listened quietly as Vash told him how he had come to gain a daughter. It broke his heart that someone who had fought so hard for someone was going to lose them. But this was an unusual assignment he'd been offered and Roderich was unsure he was the right person to undertake it.

"Mr Zwingli-"

"Vash-" Vash corrected wryly. "There's no need for formalities now you know my life story."

"Vash," Roderich amended, before rubbing his forehead wearily and voicing his thoughts. "I-I don't know if I'm the right person-"

"Wait, just give me one minute," Vash interrupted again before leaving the office. Roderich sighed deeply, tapping his desk anxiously until Vash returned a few minutes later, carefully carrying a sleeping little girl who was beginning to stir. Vash sat back down in the chair opposite Roderich, rocking Lili carefully until she nodded off again in his arms.

"Where-?"

"She was in the car with my driver," Vash explained in a low voice so as not to wake her. "Roderich...meet Lili."

Roderich couldn't help but smile softly as he watched the small blonde-haired girl snuffle and shift in her slumber.

"She's adorable." Roderich mumbled tentatively.

"I know it sounds selfish given my current situation, but I don't regret finding her – even if I won't be there to look after her." Vash looked at Roderich intently, willing him to understand. "Lili is my life. Without the years I've spent with her, this diagnosis would be a drop in the ocean. It would mean nothing because I was so alone before I met her."

Roderich swallowed hard to rid himself of the lump in his throat. Was he actually going to do this? Was he going to help this strange man?

"Lili has changed my life and I know there's someone out there whose life she'll change too. I need you to help me find someone who'll protect her. Who'll understand her and cherish her and love her as much as I do-"

Vash broke off and Roderich watched wordlessly as the broken man before him fought to regain his composure.

"So..." Vash broke the uncomfortable silence, his eyes shiny with grief. "Will you help me?"

* * *

_**Are you a well-rounded individual who is comfortable with new people and experiences?**_

_**Zwingli Corporation is offering you the chance of a lifetime! An all-expenses paid trip to Switzerland, where you will compete for a life-changing prize. If you are honest, caring and open-hearted, don't miss out on this opportunity.**_

_**Please contact Roderich Edelstein for an application form at the email address below.**_

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Though these first two chapters have been quite melancholy, I promise there are some laughs to be had – especially when we get to the actual contest. I'm still not entirely sold on the title so please let me know if you think it's alright or if you have any other suggestions :)**

_Next chapter: Meet contestant #1...Arthur Kirkland!_


	3. Arthur

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading, the reviews/faves/follows were awesome! Thanks to Aabluedragon for the correction – if anyone spots any other mistakes please let me know. Sorry about the delay guys, I'm not going to bore you with details but I'm incredibly happy to be writing again.**

**Just to clarify, the 'contestants' don't actually know the competition is about Lili and you'll see their reasons for applying over the next few chapters. Also, Vash won't be revealing his true intentions to the contestants for a while as he 'tests their characters'. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter (and there's quite a bit of swearing). **

**Applicant:** Arthur Kirkland

**Age:** 29

**Nationality:** British

**Occupation:** _Writer...Telemarketer...Unemployed_...**Between jobs**.

**Reason for applying:** I've wanted things to change in my life for a long time, but I've never been brave enough to do something about it. Your advert appeared to me at one of the lowest moments in my life and I'm taking it as a sign…

**If you would like someone to accompany you, please give us their details below:** N/A

* * *

_London, England_

Three factors contributed to Arthur Kirkland waking up early on a Monday morning. One, understandably, was the beep of the alarm clock on his bedside table. The second was the snort caused by the sound of the alarm, which rippled through Arthur so savagely, his nose stung with the pain. The third was the crash of his head against the headboard as he recoiled from the ache in his nose. Altogether, not the best wake-up call for someone whose head was still tender from a bout of heavy drinking the night before.

Wondering why the hell he kept setting his alarm, Arthur grumbled internally as he fumbled for the off button and clambered grudgingly out of bed. It wasn't like he had anywhere to go these days. Dressed in the stained white t-shirt and grey jogging bottoms he had now worn for three days straight, Arthur padded through to the toilet to empty his bladder. Careful to avoid catching his pale visage in the mirror, Arthur splashed his face with a little cold water to shock himself back to life. He then fixed himself a Bloody Mary to ease into the new day. Arthur took a few gulps before slumping into a kitchen chair and resting his throbbing head on the cool tabletop, moaning softly. Unfortunately, it was moments like these – with silent rooms and numbed brain cells – that thoughts about how shit his life had become made themselves acutely apparent.

It had been a whole month since Arthur had been unceremoniously fired from his job at Spectrum; a small company that sold printers nobody wanted. Working as a glorified telemarketer for 6 years at a company he hated with a passion had taken his toll on Arthur, and his patience with potential customers had worn thin. Therefore, it was only a matter of time before Arthur's manager would come over to his cubicle and catch him embroiled in an argument with a customer. It was all a little hazy to Arthur now and he hated thinking about it, but he was sure the conversation had gone a little like this:

_Arthur: Spectrum Printers, how can I-?_

_Woman: I wanna buy a printer, which would be the best one to get?_

_Arthur: I- well it really depends on what you want to use it for…_

_Woman: Printing, obviously._

_Arthur: (laughs weakly) A-ha, yes. But are you likely to be printing a lot of high-quality images? Or photographs? Are you using it for home or work?_

_Woman: Just tell me the best one._

_Arthur: (pause) If you'd like, I can send you a brochure and you can look through those-_

_Woman: What's the point when you're on the phone now? Just tell me what you have._

_Arthur: Well there's the Hadron 360, it's perfect for-_

_Woman: The what?_

_Arthur: (pause) The Hadron 360. It's perfect for-_

_Woman: The line isn't very clear, can you speak up?_

_Arthur: Well if you would just let me send you a brochure, it'd be a lot easier for you._

_Woman: I've already said I want you to tell me…wow, you're not being very helpful are you?_

_Arthur: I'm not being helpful? You still haven't told me what you need the printer for. And you've got me sitting here reading out of the fucking brochure-_

_Woman: Don't you fucking swear at me! I'm the customer! Do you want me to take my business elsewhere?_

_Arthur: You know what? You do that. The only use you could have for one of our printers, you ILLITERATE COW, would be shoving it up your no doubt cavernous arse!_

_Woman: How dare-_

_Arthur: *dial tone*_

_Manager: Arthur, can you come through to my office for a moment?_

_Arthur: Fuck._

What annoyed Arthur most about the situation was that he'd always thought he would quit his job at Spectrum. He'd imagined himself strolling out of the office, whistling merrily and off to bigger and better things whilst the miserable bastards left at their desks would continue their mundane tasks and think of him enviously. Instead, Arthur had crawled out of the office, tail between his legs, clutching a shabby brown box with his few belongings to titters from his former colleagues. As the lift doors closed behind him, Arthur came to the realization that whilst none of the Spectrum employees hated him, none of them gave a flying fuck where he ended up either – and that was inherently worse.

Arthur thought he had been given a lifeline when after nearly two weeks of unemployment and frantic job applications, he had finally been called in for an interview. Arthur had spent all of the night before practicing his answers, trying to portray himself as a competent, likeable individual – even though Arthur thought himself anything but. Unfortunately, as soon as Arthur had stepped into the interview room and shaken his potential employer's hand, he knew that the man had already written him off. Considering the circumstances in which Arthur had left his previous job, his reference hadn't been a disaster and the manager at Spectrum had called him a 'hard worker'. But Arthur knew this made no difference if he couldn't make a good impression in person – and Arthur just wasn't someone who people took to easily. It took time for people to get to know and like Arthur and this was something a 30 minute interview just didn't permit. Anyway, that had been a week ago and the renewed rejection meant Arthur had not left his house since; instead choosing to plummet into deep melancholy and mind-numbing alcohol sessions.

Arthur was just polishing off the Bloody Mary, imagining a few unsavoury situations for the interviewer when his letterbox emitted a screeching noise that drilled straight through his aching head.

"For _fuck's _sake!" Arthur charged over to his front door, flinging it open while clutching the stick of celery from his morning drink.

"Oi!" Arthur yelled at the retreating teenage boy who was making his way over to the next house with a bag of newspapers. "Are you a moron? I've told you before to leave it on the front step! The letterbox is clearly not big enough!" The boy, who was used to this exchange, turned around and stuck two fingers up to swear at Arthur with a wide grin.

"Little wanker," Arthur fumed, half tempted to leave his doorway and teach the runt a lesson. Fortunately for the boy who was already halfway up the street, Arthur's head couldn't cope with any confrontations. Suddenly aware of how unkempt he looked – and that the neighbour across the street was staring right at him – Arthur nodded awkwardly at his audience and retreated back into the house. Picking up the ruined newspaper, Arthur tutted and flopped down on the sitting-room couch to read it.

Arthur had been perusing the job listings for what seemed like forever, becoming increasingly more frustrated at the lack of suitable positions, when a small knock at the front door disrupted his task. Looking up at the clock which remarkably only read 7am, Arthur frowned and went over to open the door. Peter – the 9-year-old boy who lived next door – was standing on his doorstep anxiously hopping from foot to foot.

"Hi, Mr Kirkland!" The boy greeted him brightly. "Can I use your loo? I'm desperate." Pushing past him before waiting for an answer, Peter ran into the bathroom and locked the door.

"What's the matter with your own?" Arthur grumbled uselessly to the empty space the boy had once occupied. It was then Arthur noticed a group of boys hovering at the end of the street watching him expectantly. "Oh. Hey, clear off!" Arthur yelled and the boys disappeared hastily around the corner. Going back inside, Arthur found Peter in the kitchen looking around for something to eat – he'd obviously abandoned his 'needing the toilet' ruse.

"Didn't you have breakfast?" Arthur frowned, watching the boy continue to rummage through his fridge.

"Nope!" Peter said brightly. "I left my house really early so they wouldn't see me, but it turns out they _really_ want to get me, so they were waiting."

"Oh." Arthur said again, unable to stop himself feeling a pang of sadness for this random boy who managed to draw annoyance and sympathy from him in equal measure. "Well there's cereal in the cupboard if you want it," Arthur offered, scratching his head uncertainly. "The milk's a bit of a gamble to be honest."

"I really want toast. Can I have French toast?" _There's the annoyance_, Arthur thought to himself as he opened his mouth to deny the child his preferred breakfast. "My mum used to make it for me when I was little," Peter explained. "Before she started working nights." _And here comes the sympathy, _Arthur groaned inwardly.

"I'll see what I can do," Arthur muttered, checking to see if the bread in the fridge was still palatable. "Sorry, I haven't done some shopping in a while."

* * *

It had been three months ago that Arthur had first encountered Peter on his way home from a particularly gruelling day at Spectrum. The boy, dressed in a weird sailor cap and matching uniform Arthur hoped to God he had been forced to wear, had been in the centre of what could only be described as a pack of bloodthirsty schoolboys. The boys seemed to take great pleasure in throwing Peter's bag from one tormentor to the next, jeering at the slight boy's poor attempts to reach it. Surprising himself, Arthur waded in to intervene, grabbing the schoolbag and shoving it into its owner's arms before stalking off. Arthur was bemused to find the boy skipping behind him five minutes later in a desperate attempt to keep up with Arthur's long strides.

"You're Mr Kirkland aren't you?" The boy said breathlessly, catching up with Arthur who had reluctantly slowed his pace so the boy would stop skipping. _No wonder he was being persecuted._

"I-how do you know that?" Arthur was nearing his door now and wanted to shake off the unwanted follower, but he was curious.

"We moved in next door last month. My mum said on the phone you were the weirdo next door with the eyebrows who's 'a bit of alright'. What does she mean? I'm Peter. I'm 9. How old are you? My mum said on the phone you look 40, but I think you look quite young now. You must have been tired when she saw you. My mum's 30, but when she gets tired everyone says she looks much older. I've seen you in the garden through the fence sometimes. Why do you drink so much?"

Rendered speechless by the assault of questions and revelations, Arthur could feel himself turn red as he shook his head in response and opened his front door. He paused, waiting for the boy to say his goodbyes and leave him alone.

"I thought you were scary but you're not. You saved my life! Thank you, Mr Kirkland." Arthur sighed. _How fucking dramatic._

"No problem," he murmured finally, thinking that would be the end of it. It wasn't. The next morning, Arthur was bewildered to find Peter waving at him from his window as he left for work.

"Hi, Mr Kirkland!" Peter shouted, his voice muffled by the double-glazed windows. Arthur waved weakly back at him before setting off.

It didn't stop there either. For some godforsaken reason, the boy had become attached to Arthur and he just couldn't shake him off. Peter chatted incessantly through the garden fence when Arthur tried to enjoy a beer in peace after a hard day's work. Or he would turn up uninvited after school on Arthur's free days wanting to watch TV with him because his own house was too empty and the boys from school had followed him home.

During these unexpected visits, Arthur discovered Peter's mother worked long hours to keep them in the life they had become accustomed to. He couldn't help but feel Peter would rather live in squalor and see his mother a little more often, but Arthur wasn't one to intrude into other people's problems. In any case, if this little boy appeared on his doorstep seeking refuge from the group of boys who continued to harass him, Arthur didn't have the heart to turn him away.

* * *

Twenty minutes and two failed attempts later, the pair were tucking into slices of French toast in comfortable silence when the letterbox signalled the arrival of the post.

"I'll get it!" Peter cried, clambering from his stool and wiping his butter-stained hands on his school jumper. Arthur shook his head disbelievingly at the boy's eagerness. _That'll evaporate once his older, _Arthur thought bitterly, and then chided himself for being so cynical. For some reason, Arthur didn't like to think of Peter losing that wide-eyed innocence and belief that things would get better. It was irritating but oddly refreshing. Peter returned a few minutes later clutching Arthur's letters and deposited them unceremoniously onto the kitchen table.

"Ooh, what's this one?" Peter asked shaking a largish brown package with a strange silver seal out of the pile.

"Never you mind," Arthur snapped, grabbing the letters from Peter and proceeding to examine the package himself. Arthur sat the counter and tore the packet open, stunned to find a plane ticket to Switzerland in its contents.

"What the fu...hell?" Arthur corrected, before turning his attention to the accompanying letter, reading through it three times before a liquor-infused memory came back to him.

Arthur remembered coming back from the pub on the night of his dismissal from Spectrum, blind-drunk and foolishly determined to get a new job that night; right there and then. He'd sat at his computer for hours, trawling through the obvious job sites and the more obscure ones – Arthur was convinced he would make a pretty good chicken sexer – when he'd stumbled on the advert for an adventure in Switzerland. Arthur didn't really know if he fit the profile for the contest, but it was a challenge; it was all expenses paid; and it was a goal Arthur sorely needed at that moment. So, with the misguided optimism alcohol usually gave him, Arthur answered the questions in the application with more honestly than he probably should have, before passing out and drawing a blank the next morning.

"Oh my God, I can't believe this..." Arthur breathed, studying the ticket again as if it could disappear at any moment. "I'm going to Switzerland."

"You are?" Peter responded, watching wide-eyed as Arthur laughed incredulously, excitement transforming his face into that of someone ten years younger.

"It looks like it! I mean, bloody hell, I can't even remember what I wrote in the application!" Arthur shook his head, still in disbelief. "But it's got to be better than this, right? Things literally couldn't be worse than they are now."

"Does that mean you're not going to be here?" Peter asked, unable to keep the tremor from his voice.

"Well, yes...but it's only for two weeks," Arthur added hastily at Peter's forlorn expression. "I'm sorry, Peter, I really am. But this is actually quite a big deal…"

"I know," Peter said grudgingly. "You're smiling. You never smile so this must be important."

"What do you…of course I…ridiculous…" Arthur spluttered, momentarily lost for words. Normally this would have earned Peter a rap on the ear, but Arthur was in too good a mood. Besides, the kid was pretty astute for an 9-year-old. Instead, Arthur decided he'd actually like to freshen up and go for a walk – maybe get some fresh air.

"Do you need me to walk you to school?" Arthur offered eventually.

"I don't _need _anyone to take me, I can get there on my own!" Peter retorted, pouting childishly. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Fine...do you _want _me to take you?" Peter shrugged noncommittally.

"I guess so."

"Ok, good, just let me get changed." Arthur got up from his chair and moved to ruffle Peter's hair before thinking against it. He may be in high spirits but he wasn't drunk on them! _Good grief what's wrong with me? _Arthur thought to himself, horrified at how positive this new development had made him and quite disturbed at how foreign the feeling was.

"You're weird when you're happy, Mr Kirkland." Peter, who had been watching Arthur's mental argument curiously, said matter-of-factly. Sliding off the kitchen stool, he handed Arthur his empty plate before going through to the sitting room to watch cartoons.

As the hot water from the shower cascaded over Arthur's body for the first time in three days, he felt a smile creep up on his face again. Arthur knew he shouldn't pin his hopes up on this one chance to better his life but he couldn't help it. He hadn't had this feeling in a long time. For the first time in what felt like forever, Arthur Kirkland had hope.

* * *

**A/N Thanks for reading! The next few chapters (like this one) will be quite short as it's just a snapshot into their lives before the contest. Please comment/review and let me know what you think **

_Next chapter: Contestants 2, 3, 4, & 5: Gilbert, Francis, Antonio…& Ludwig!_


	4. Gilbert, Francis, Antonio and Ludwig

**A/N: Next chapter up a little earlier than I expected! The characters are speaking English to each other unless specified otherwise. Unfortunately, my multilingual skills are pretty poor :'(**

**Applicant:** Antonio Fernández Carriedo

**Age:** 31

**Nationality:** Spanish

**Occupation:** Counsellor

**The most important thing to you:** Helping people. There is no greater gift in my line of work than watching someone who has struggled finally break through and understand who they truly are.

**If you would like someone to accompany you, please give us their details below:**

Francis Bonnefoy, 31 years old, French, Events Co-ordinator. As one of my closest friends, there's nothing I don't share with this man. He's friendly, brutally open-minded and the most daring guy I know. I feel he would be a welcome addition to this contest.

**Applicant:** Ludwig Beilschmidt

**Age:** 27

**Nationality:** German

**Occupation:** Political Advisor to the Foreign Minister

**Name what you feel are your 3 best qualities:** I'm loyal, practical and kind.

**If you would like someone to accompany you, please give us their details below:**

Gilbert Beilschmidt, 30 years old, German, Beverage Manufacturer. He's my older brother and has taught me so much about life. I don't know where I'd be without him. In fact, I'm pretty sure most of my success is down to him. Gilbert has this certain air about him that makes everybody want to listen. He has my total respect...and he's awesome.

* * *

_Munich, Germany_

*THUMP*

"Ow!" Antonio Fernandez Carriedo cried from the floor beside his friend Gilbert's bed. A bed just ten seconds ago he had been sleeping peacefully in.

"Wh-What?" Gilbert Beilschmidt woke up with a start, lifting the yellow sleeping mask he liked to wear and peering over the bed to find Antonio still groaning on the bedroom floor. "What's up?"

"You've pushed me off again, that's what's up!" Antonio fumed, pushing Gilbert back to his side of the bed as he clambered back onto it.

"Hey, you know I like to stretch," Gilbert shrugged, pulling his eyemask back on and settling down into a more comfortable position. "I don't know why you didn't share with Francis in the guestroom."

"You know very well Francis gyrates in his sleep," Antonio muttered, grabbing the covers and turning over on his side away from Gilbert. "I don't really feel like getting molested first thing in the morning."

"Ha! I thought he takes pills for that?"

"Believe me, they don't work. I shared a bed with him last time I was in France," Antonio mumbled, closing his eyes in an attempt to fall back asleep. "That's not even the issue anyway. After 10 years you think you'd invest in an extra bed."

Gilbert chuckled lightly. It was hard to believe a decade of friendship existed between the three contrasting characters, but it had. Who'd have thought a chance meeting in a beer tent would spawn the most meaningful and valuable relationships Gilbert had outside of his family?

* * *

_Munich, Germany_

_10 years ago_

Gilbert Beilschmidt sighed heavily as he wiped his brow under the oppressive heat of the Augustiner-Bräu beer tent. After years working as an apprentice at the brewery, Gilbert had reached what was possibly the most important moment in his career and it looked like he was going to fail miserably. It was Oktoberfest, and the company had finally given him the chance to put out some of his own special brew – a little creation Gilbert liked to call 'Schmidt Beer'. His boss had told him if he could get people interested in his beverage, they'd provide the seed money for Gilbert to branch out and start up on his own. Gilbert knew he had a superior product – if there was anything he knew too much about, it was beer. But for some reason, people just weren't warming to it.

"Hey! You!" Gilbert hollered, grabbing a startled passer-by by the wrist and dragging them to his table. "Try this." Gilbert shoved a cup of his brew into the stranger's hand and watched with barely contained anticipation as the man took a weary sip.

"Sehr gut, yes?" Gilbert nodded, his grin a little too wide as reached out to grab a notepad from his stall. "I'm making a list of people who like the product. If you could just put your name and contact details here and here, I'll send you some info-"

"I'm sorry," the man stuttered, taking a few steps back. "I…have to be somewhere."

"Spread the word!" Gilbert called after the rapidly retreating figure. "Schmidt beer, it's the SHIT!"

"Wow, that was quite the car crash, no?"

Gilbert turned in the direction of the voice and found himself face-to-face with a young blond-haired man sporting an amused expression. If the French accent hadn't given it away, Gilbert was sure he would have guessed the man wasn't local from his attire. The stranger wore a cornflower blue silk shirt that matched his eyes, barely buttoned up to reveal a slightly hairy chest and grey suit trousers. Every inch of him seemed perfectly presented; from the yellow-blond hair, shoulder-length and slightly coiffed at the ends, to the most carefully crafted designer stubble Gilbert had ever seen. He was probably the second prettiest guy Gilbert had met in his lifetime.

"Who the fuck are you?" Gilbert scowled, forgetting for a moment how accommodating he needed to be for the sake of his career.

"I'm Francis Bonnefoy," the man answered, smiling easily despite the cold greeting. "And this is my friend Antonio Fernández Carriedo." It was then that Gilbert noticed the other man standing beside Francis. He had sparkling green eyes and olive skin that was complemented by the white flannel shirt he wore. His dark brown hair curled slightly at the edges, giving him a boyish charm. Antonio waved cheerily at the mention of his name and Gilbert couldn't help but warm to him almost immediately.

"We were looking for the Weinzelt...the wine tent…when I saw you and just had to meet you." Francis continued. "Your features are quite striking. Tell me…are you German?"

Gilbert was quite used to this reaction whenever people encountered his strange combination of white, almost silver, blond hair and mahogany brown eyes that flashed red more often than not. For some reason, 'striking' was always the word they used to describe him and, over time, Gilbert had learnt to accept this as a compliment.

"Yes, but you could say I'm old Germany," Gilbert replied drily. "They don't make them like me anymore." To his dismay, Francis laughed loudly at this, placing a playful hand briefly on Gilbert's chest.

"It was my intention to sleep with you tonight," Francis stated casually. At this, Gilbert just about managed to maintain his composure. "But I see fate has brought us together for different reasons. You are in dire need of help presenting yourself. May I try the beer?"

Gilbert shrugged, mentally kicking himself for being so nonchalant. These were the first people to actually stay by his stall and take an interest in Schmidt Beer. And here he was getting riled up over a little mild flirting! _Ok, not so mild. _Gilbert thought to himself as Francis began to eye-fuck him over the rim of his beer cup.

"You know you have a really good product here," Francis said finally, passing the cup so Antonio could taste it too. "I'm really a wine connoisseur, but that is a great beer."

"I know it is," Gilbert beamed with pride. "Brewed with my own two hands."

"Why don't we let Antonio try and shift a few of those samples…and, maybe, we can get to know each other a little better…?"

"Not going to happen, Goldilocks." Gilbert growled, jerking his head to the side so the hand Francis was using to fondle Gilbert's earlobe fell away.

"Hon hon hon," Francis laughed, winking and licking his lips suggestively. "They all say that at first."

"Ha! What do you do? Flirt your conquests into submission? I can see you want me, I'm not surprised – I rule. But I'm afraid I'm not interested."

"Ok," Francis said simply, turning to watch Antonio work the beer stand. Gilbert wasn't quite sure if he'd imagined it, but he thought he saw a tiny crack in Francis' bravado. Appreciating that Francis didn't seem that much older than he was and was probably still figuring things out, Gilbert intended to apologise but was momentarily distracted by Antonio's shout.

"Tell your friends! Schmidt beer: it's the shit!"

"Hey, he used the tagline too!" Gilbert exclaimed, trying and failing to disguise his pride. "My potential investors keep telling me to drop it."

"Yes, but Antonio didn't sound like he was going to kill them," Francis reasoned. "He has that effect on people, they really warm to him."

"I take it you don't feel you have that same quality?" Gilbert questioned, nudging the Frenchman gently.

"I have other devices."

"Ha! I'm sure you do," Gilbert cackled, pausing slightly before adding: "Well you don't seem that bad to me." Gilbert could see Francis smile slightly, and for once there was no innuendo or sexual intention behind it.

"I don't even know your name," Francis acknowledged, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"Well, Gilbert, I happen to be an events planner. If you'd like, I can help you organise something. Maybe a promotional launch for Schmidt beer?"

Gilbert looked over at Antonio who was still working his stand. The samples on the table were disappearing rapidly and Antonio was now compiling a list of contacts interested in Gilbert's beverage. In a short while, these two strangers had turned Gilbert's fortunes around and they seemed neither scared nor intimated by him. What did he have to lose?

"Why not?" Gilbert answered eventually. "Meet me at my house later tonight – here let me write down my address." Gilbert scribbled down his details on a scrap of paper and pressed it into Francis' palm. "I swear, you'd better not be fucking with me!" Francis smirked as he pocketed the small slip of paper.

"Not unless you want me to."

* * *

_Munich, Germany_

Gilbert chuckled to himself as he recalled the vast amounts of alcohol the trio had consumed that night as they planned the Schmidt beer launch in his apartment. Needless to say, nothing substantial had been done, but he had found himself really liking the strange foreign duo. To Gilbert, it was in this apartment that they had ultimately cemented their friendship – which was why leaving it was going to be especially difficult.

The three friends had made it a tradition to meet up a few times a year in their respective countries, but this current visit was made in special circumstances. In a few short months, Gilbert would be moving to Switzerland to open up a new branch for Schmidt Beer. With Francis and Antonio's help, Gilbert's product had become a resounding success and expanding had seemed like the next logical step.

Gilbert had planned to take a short trip there beforehand to check out his new hometown and was researching things to do in Switzerland when he'd come across an advert for a contest set up by some billionaire. Naturally, Gilbert had signed himself up immediately and decided having his friends join him was a recipe for adventure. The last time Gilbert had arranged a trip, the three of them had ended up lost in a cornfield for five days straight with limited supplies, which had resulted in Antonio having a mini breakdown. It was also during this incident that Francis' gyrating problem had begun – but that was another issue and Gilbert was feeling positive this time. To his delight, Gilbert had received the plane tickets and confirmation they had been accepted into the competition a week ago and hadn't hesitated in persuading his friends to fly over.

"Argh, I can't get back to sleep now," Gilbert groaned, getting up out of bed and stretching. "I'm gonna make breakfast, you want anything?"

"Yeah," Antonio replied sleepily. "I'll be up in a minute."

Intent on checking up on Francis, Gilbert walked out into the corridor and was stunned to find him already awake and hungrily kissing a shirtless man by the slightly ajar front door.

"Francis!" Gilbert called loudly down the hallway. At the sound of his voice, Francis broke apart from who Gilbert now recognised as the doorman and shoved the poor boy out of the apartment, followed swiftly by his clothes. Slamming the door behind his conquest, Francis took a few moments to tie his blue silk dressing gown and compose himself before spinning round and smiling weakly at his friend.

"Morning, Gilbert!" Gilbert's eyes narrowed and Francis had the decency to look sheepish. "The thing is, we had a connection-"

"Yeah, yeah," Gilbert waved his hand dismissively. "I'm making breakfast – I'm guessing you must be ravenous. Make yourself useful and go a feed Gilbird will you?" It was actually leaving his pet canary alone for a little over two weeks that had worried Gilbert the most, but after interviewing several bird-sitters, he had finally settled on one he knew Gilbird would be safe with.

Gilbert switched on the coffee percolator and took out a frying pan to make a start on some sausages and eggs. Francis appeared a few minutes later, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down on a stool near the kitchen counter to watch Gilbert cook. Pushing his dishevelled blond hair out of his eyes, Francis didn't fail to spot the knowing look Gilbert threw him.

"To be honest, I'm the one who should be offended, Gilbert," Francis said defensively as he took a sip of coffee. "You didn't tell me you had a hunky new doorman."

"I just assumed you'd be able to sniff him out from France." Gilbert replied wryly as turned over the contents of the frying pan.

"Ouch! If you're jealous, just say so and I'll make it up to you," Francis teased, shielding himself as Gilbert tried to smack Francis over the head with his spatula.

Francis' sexual advances towards Gilbert had diminished over time since their first meeting, but that didn't mean he didn't try his luck sometimes – if only just to annoy Gilbert. There had been plenty of near moments – especially when Gilbert or Francis had been off their faces on tequila, but Gilbert had always managed to stop things before they went too far. Gilbert and Antonio, however, had never had that problem. It was partly because Antonio was more inclined to seek a romantic relationship and that just wasn't something Gilbert was interested in. But it was also because Antonio seemed to have a penchant for younger men. Francis joked that it was because Antonio was more perverted than people thought Francis was – which Gilbert thought was nigh on impossible. But Gilbert had put it down to Antonio liking to take care of people and wanting to feel needed. It was probably why the Spaniard had the job he had.

"I didn't tell you because my neighbour was pining for months after you finished with him," Gilbert pointed out as he set a plate of food down in front of Francis. "He used to hide outside my door, spying to see if you'd come to visit. It was very annoying."

"Hey I can't help it if I'm hard to get over," Francis shrugged, rubbing his stubbled chin thoughtfully. "I might drop in and say hi…"

Saving Francis from being hit over the head with another utensil, Antonio entered the kitchen, yawning loudly and grabbing a mug to get himself some coffee.

"Just in time," Gilbert said through gritted teeth as he hand Antonio a plate. "Do you know Francis has already had a midnight snack? I caught the bastard sneaking my doorman out this morning."

"You've been here one night, Francis!" Antonio exclaimed, his expression a mixture of disgust and unavoidable admiration as he sat down opposite Francis.

"The heart wants what the heart wants," Francis sighed, winking at Antonio as he took a large bit of sausage to emphasise his point. Unfortunately, Francis had miscalculated how hot the food was and promptly spat the bite back on his plate, fanning his burnt mouth in an attempt to cool it. Antonio had also chosen that moment to take a gulp of coffee and ended up spluttering with laughter at Francis' less than elegant display.

"Of course, you're all heart aren't you?" Antonio responded, wiping his mouth once he'd recovered.

"Guys, on your best behaviour today," Gilbert interrupted, before the two could delve into their ongoing love versus sex discussion. "I've done all I can make sure Ludwig's able to travel, but he's still gonna need some convincing. So flirting," Gilbert looked pointedly at Francis, "or any of that psychoanalysing bullshit," now Antonio had Gilbert's attention, "is off the table. Understood?"

Francis and Antonio rolled their eyes in unison, which Gilbert chose to take as acceptance of his terms.

"Awesome! Eat up guys, today we travel to Bonn. Roadtrip!"

* * *

_Bonn, Germany_

Ludwig Beilschmidt was an observant man. In fact, some would say infuriatingly perceptive – Ludwig had read it in one of his evaluation reports. So when the lift doors opened and he stepped into the Foreign Office, it didn't take Ludwig long to notice the atmosphere was somewhat different from the norm. In fact, it almost seemed like they were waiting for him, judging by the furtive looks people kept aiming in his direction. _What's happened now?_ Ludwig groaned inwardly. _And do I have to deal with it before I've had my morning coffee?_

If Ludwig hadn't been hankering for his caffeine fix, he might have noticed one of his female colleagues sporting the pink cheeks of someone who'd just been seduced by a certain blond-haired casanova. Or he would have spotted a guy who had the smile of someone who had been won over by the easy charm of an olive-skinned lothario. But Ludwig saw none of these things, despite his keen eye, as he headed over to his office where his secretary was hovering anxiously outside.

"Mr Beilschmidt, there's something you should know-"

"Not now, Ilsa," Ludwig grumbled impatiently. "Just get me some coffee first, please."

Ludwig stepped into his office and proceeded to shake off his suit jacket, when the chair behind his desk spun round, revealing his older brother sitting in it and smiling gleefully back at him. Ludwig's heart dropped at this revelation. Not that he wasn't happy to see his brother, but Gilbert rarely appeared at Ludwig's place of work; and when he did, it was nearly always because he was in trouble.

"Gilbert? What the hell are you doing here? Who let you into my office?"

"Wow, nice to see you too, Lulu," Gilbert pouted childishly.

"I've told you not to call me that!"

"Sorry little bro," Gilbert laughed, leaping out of the chair and enveloping Ludwig in a bear hug. Ludwig struggled but decided to let Gilbert get it out of his system – it had been a while since they'd seen each other after all. Whilst trapped in Gilbert's embrace, Ludwig's view shifted and he saw Antonio and Francis sitting on the futon by the door. The pair waved at him in unison, their expressions suitably apologetic. Things were worse than Ludwig feared if Gilbert had dragged his frat boys along for the ride.

"I should have known from that godawful smell," Ludwig muttered under his breath as he cast a reproachful look in Francis' direction. Now his office would smell like that flower-based monstrosity the Frenchman liked to call aftershave.

"What did he say?" Francis asked Gilbert as the brothers separated. His German was not particularly good but he knew Ludwig was talking about him.

"He was admiring your cologne," Gilbert lied as his friends also hugged Ludwig in greeting. Ludwig's short blond hair, which had been evenly parted before, was now sticking up in uneven peaks. Gilbert thought it best not to notify his brother, knowing Ludwig's less than impeccable appearance at work would bring him endless mortification.

"You haven't told me what you're doing here," Ludwig pressed, switching to English so everyone could understand him.

"We've come to take you on a little adventure," Gilbert told him, clapping his little brother on the back. "A holiday for the four of us!"

"You've got to be kidding me," Ludwig stared back at his brother disbelievingly after his initial laughter had died down. "You can't just drop by, tell me that and expect me to go along with you."

"Hey, he didn't tell us about this trip before he signed us up either," Antonio reasoned, already in mediator mode. "But it could be fun!"

"First of all, let me make things clear. Even if I could, I'm not going on holiday with a group of people who call themselves 'FAG'." Ludwig stated with an air of finality.

"Hey, we got that from our initials: Francis, Antonio, Gilbert – it fits!" Gilbert argued loudly. He had thought up the acronym and was particularly proud of it.

"Yeah, it's just merely coincidental we all happen to love cock," Francis piped in, his face shining with amusement.

"Mein Gott, keep your voice down!" Ludwig groaned, looking anxiously over at the closed door to his office. Ludwig noticed Isla had decided not to come in and give him the coffee he'd asked for – she probably didn't want to risk facing him after he'd seen his uninvited guests.

"Don't worry dear brother, when you're ready to admit you do too we'll let you join our group. We'll call ourselves 'FLAG'…a great big multi-coloured one full of pride and acceptance."

"Leave him alone Gil, he'll come out in his own time," Antonio interrupted, noticing Ludwig's face reddening uncomfortably.

"I know, I know, he's just always been so uptight," Gilbert said, adding conspiratorially: "He gets it from our grandfather."

"I would offer to loosen him up a bit…" Francis admitted, unable to stop himself giving Ludwig's muscular body a once-over. "…but believe it or not I do have boundaries. And you being my brother Gilly, so to speak, means that Ludwig is my little brother too-"

"STOP TALKING ABOUT ME AS IF I'M NOT HERE!" Ludwig bellowed, abandoning his efforts to keep their conversation confined to his office. He hated when they discussed his sexuality as if it was some ongoing saga they were all keeping tabs on. Ludwig had never denied he was gay; he was just a private person and preferred not to parade it around like his brother's friends chose to.

"Ok ok, we're sorry Ludwig," Gilbert said, switching smoothly from English to German to sooth his little brother. "You know we're only messing with you."

"And you know I don't like it," Ludwig muttered, his large blue eyes downcast as he fiddled with his shirt sleeve.

"I'm sorry, Ludwig," Gilbert apologised again, squeezing his little brother's shoulder. Ludwig nodded silently in acceptance. "The thing about this trip is I kinda need you to go. I, er, put my entry down under your name." There was a beat of silence before Ludwig exploded.

"You did what?!"

"Well the ad said they were looking for kind, well-rounded people and I thought you came across much better," Gilbert explained quickly. "It's a compliment really!"

"How many times have I told you not to use my name? I've still got a bunch of subscriptions for magazines I would never read. _Bird Weekly_? _Brauwelt_? _Herr Cock magazine_?! I mean, for Christ's sakes, Gilbert, I work in government!"

Gilbert grinned widely; partly because he had noticed Francis perk up at the last magazine title (it seemed Francis could locate smut in any language), and partly because hearing expletives come out of Ludwig when he was at his most serious never failed to amuse Gilbert.

"For your information, that last one was a Christmas present – talk about ungrateful..."

"Gilbert, I don't have time for this. You should have consulted me first. The department's very busy at the moment-"

"Ha! Really? Because your department doesn't seem to mind losing a worker for a couple of weeks." Gilbert beamed as he revealed his trump card.

"What are you talking about?"

"Apparently your boss has been telling you to take a break for months. Seriously, you have so many holiday days left it's actually sickening. Anyway, I told your boss about our plans and he was only too happy to give you the time off. See? It's all sorted!" Gilbert's triumphant look dissolved at his brother's visibly furious demeanour.

"I cannot believe…" Ludwig closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to control his temper. "I cannot believe you went to the Foreign Minster _behind my back _and begged for some time off for your baby brother. Do you realise how bad this makes me look? Do you have any idea how hard I've worked-"

"Yes I do, Ludwig, which why I think you need this trip as much as I do!" Gilbert cut in passionately. "Honestly, it's not as bad as you think. All of them out there think you have a life now!" Ludwig snorted at this.

"Like I give a crap what they think!"

"Ludwig," Gilbert implored quietly, deciding to take a different tack. "I'm leaving the country in a few months and I want to spend a couple of weeks hanging out and doing something fun with the people I love. Will you come or not?"

Ludwig sighed, his anger dissipating rapidly. Damn Gilbert and his ability to cut through his own bullshit to speak from the heart once in a while.

"What kind of holiday is this?" Ludwig asked finally, folding his arms across his chest defiantly. "You know I won't tolerate sitting on some beach doing nothing."

"There's no danger of that, believe me," Gilbert countered hastily, knowing that he had won Ludwig over. "It's an all-expenses paid adventure where you get to show how efficient and talented you are – you know how you love that. And even more importantly, you get to hang out with us before my big move! What more could you want?"

"Three cases of Schmidt."

"Beer?" Gilbert queried after a short pause. "That's what you want from me?"

"Yep…" Ludwig nodded before adding quietly: "It's the shit."

"God, I love you Ludwig," Gilbert beamed, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders. Ludwig couldn't stop the blush creeping up his neck as he tried and failed miserably to extract himself from Gilbert's grasp. "But seriously, you know I can get that for you anytime you…I mean yes. Yes, you can have that." Ludwig narrowed his eyes at Gilbert's poor backtrack.

"Make that five cases."

"Five, ten, whatever you want," Gilbert agreed merrily. "It's all good guys!" Gilbert exclaimed in English, turning to his two friends who had been watching the brothers' exchange with growing apprehension and perplexity. "Let the fun begin!"

"What, now?" Ludwig cried as the trio picked up his belongings and escorted him out of his office.

"Yep, I booked your holiday from today," Gilbert revealed as they marched Ludwig past his colleagues and out of the building. Ludwig made sure not to catch anyone's eye – this was something he would never be able to live down.

"You don't mind us staying in your apartment until we depart for Switzerland, do you Ludwig?" Antonio asked, tapping his shoulder gently.

"What's the point in asking him?" Francis pointed out. "Our stuff's already there."

"Yeah, I found the key," Gilbert divulged when Ludwig turned to him, angrily demanding an explanation. "Don't blame me! Only an idiot still keeps the key to his house under a rock."

"I swear to God, Gilbert," Ludwig muttered under his breath. "One day I'll sneak into your apartment and set your bird free."

"Don't you…don't you even joke about that," Gilbert stuttered, his face turning an unhealthy shade of grey. "No one fucks with my bird."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading guys! Please let me know what you think, I love to reading your feedback and it really spurs me on :)**

_Next chapter: Contestants 6 & 7 – Kiku and his Uncle Yao_


End file.
